


Land of Gods & Monsters

by Makii



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel! Adam, Angst, Demon! Ronan, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor God! Kavinsky, Mythology References, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Supernatural Elements, Witch! Blue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:05:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makii/pseuds/Makii
Summary: Ronan is a demon and Adam is an angel, and they've been friends for centuries, and lovers for decades, until Adam disappears. Ronan searches for him, but when he finally finds him, all he sees is a teenage boy with dusty hair who doesn't know he's an angel. And worse, he doesn't know who Ronan is.





	1. Prologue: in principio (in the beginning)

Neither angel nor demon can say for sure how long their lives have been intertwined, though they can agree that they first encountered each other, face to face, sometime between the creation of man and the birth of Christ. That only leaves 4000 years, give or take. 

It matters little, however, because the first meeting isn’t terribly important to this story. An angel and a demon crossing paths indicates that it wasn’t exactly a pleasant encounter, anyways, and you’ll experience plenty of unpleasantness in the pages to come as it is.

Over the centuries, they chanced upon each other time and time again. 

The unlikely duo once found themselves simultaneous guests of the Frankish king, Charlemagne, breaking bread and watching the expansion of an empire while keeping a watchful guard of each other. 

They saw each other again when the Tale of Genji was completed, and again during the election of Genghis Khan, and again during the Great Famine of 1315-1317, and again during the Black Death, and again during the Italian Wars. Together, the angel and the demon saw the birth and death of Muhammad, the arrival of the vikings on England’s shores, and the rise of Shakespeare. Certainly, their paths crossed many times to watch the progression of humankind. In the late 1700s, during a musical concert presented by Mozart, it could be said that they became friendly. Whether the music itself enchanted these two antithetical creatures, or whether they just found amity in shared joys, who can say. 

Throughout the 1800s, their friendship blossomed from cordial to profound. Using a certain, unnatural discretion, they met each other all over the world, exploring the new creations of these intriguing and horrible humans that the angel’s Father loved so. 

A hundred years is not so long for ageless creatures like demons and angels, but it is enough time for them to fall in love.

They did not speak of it. Already, they had gorged on the forbidden fruit of their unnatural friendship. They could not possibly go any further than they already had. 

Until they hit the Roaring Twenties. Or rather, it hit them, with it’s wonder and laughter and explosions of vividness. They lost themselves in that decade, in each other. They drank and they danced and they _kissed and kissed and kissed_ and they couldn’t stop, didn’t want to. They were addicted to each other, to the passions inflamed in between them and the calmness they gave each other. There was no going back. 

On January 1st, 1931, Marut disappeared. 

Of course, he might have been summoned to Heaven. 

Malphas knew better, though. He knew Marut like they shared a soul, a breath, a mind, a heart. If angels and demons even have any of those things. No, he knew Marut had not simply fled nor had he been summoned by his Heavenly Father. 

The demon searched and searched and searched. He interrogated angels and he interrogated demons and he interrogated anyone or anything that might contain even a shred of evidence. He did not stop looking, could not. Finally, _finally_ , he’d had his other half in his arms, making a whole. The final piece of a puzzle. 

And then, not a moment later, he’d vanished. 

Decades later, the demon’s perseverance paid off. 

He found him. 

_He found him he found him he found him._

The demon found the angel in a small, dusty American town called Henrietta in the swelling stomach of a pregnant Alice Parrish.

Who had done this? Why? How? 

Malphas could not get any more information. The town was teaming with powerful, supernatural entities. Witches and deities and phantoms and many more, all who could pose a danger to him and his love. He knew he would have to be crafty, and this was no feat for an ancient demon. So, he did want any hellish fiend would do in his place. 

He waited for another human woman to get pregnant, and he possessed the fetus in her womb. 

A few months later, Ronan Niall Lynch was born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I know this whole... baby possession thing is weird lmao but I didn't know how else to incorporate it how I wanted it. Malphas the demon will grow up to become Ronan Lynch, and Marut will do so with Adam Parrish. Idk.... Let me know if you guys hate this concept. It won't really be important later on, they'll just BE Ronan and Adam.
> 
> Other stuff: 
> 
> I'm... not really much of a writer. I won't closely edit this lol (be prepared for mistakes) and also, I'm just not even sure if this will be good. My writing is really inconsistent so I guess? Don't expect much? 
> 
> Marut is an angel in the Islam religion, and he was an angel associated with sorcery.  
> Malphas is a demon in the Christian religion, he was a demon who turned into a raven/took the shape of one. 
> 
> More tags will be added.
> 
> I think I've read Adam's mom being written as Alice multiple times and I think it just fits, so I went with that.


	2. quaerere (in search of)

**RONAN**

Demons don’t possess infants, least of all those who haven’t even been born yet. 

Why would they? What possible benefits could come from infiltrating the body of a useless, tiny human? That is what a demon would say, if you asked one why they don’t. Truthfully, things tend to go wrong. They say that infants, in all their purity and innocence, are protected by the power of Heaven and God Herself. Whether this is true or not… Best not to try and see for yourself. 

Malphas, of course, hardly took this into consideration. Great Prince of Hell, second in command to Lucifer, and ever the rule breaker, forged his own path. It made sense that he, for love, would possess an unborn child. He’d probably do it on a dare. 

He could not have foreseen the effects, though, for when Ronan Lynch was born, Malphas ceased to exist. For a time, anyway. 

The middle son of the Lynch family was born and raised on a gorgeous, wild piece of farmland outside of Henrietta, Virginia, and was like any other human boy. He had no knowledge of the demonic entity possessing him, or had no memories of _being_ said demonic entity. The two are often indistinguishable. 

When Ronan found the gruesome scene of his father’s corpse, bloodied and brutally murdered, he didn’t see the Barns for a long time. Eons, it felt like. The trauma burned through him like hellfire, leaving alcoholism and self-destruction and anger and ruthlessness all in its wake. He spent too many nights wiping out his own memories with liquor and whatever pills Kavinsky came up with, but replaced them with new ones. After every night of poor and dangerous decision making, Ronan would wake up with a deathlike hangover and vague recollections of hazy dreams. 

Dreams of a demon, dreams of an angel. Dreams of queens and kings and gods and plagues and all manner of things witnessed through the eons.

Kavinsky knew him. Knew who he was, _what_ he was. He helped him along, with his pills and suggestions and finally, _finally_ , Ronan pieced everything together. He remembered himself, and he remembered his purpose. Remembered _him_. The angel. His angel.

This did not erase his human memories though. He still had his years as a human. His time at the Barns with his family, his friendship with Gansey, his trauma and his distaste of all things academic. That was all him, too. This strange human life had become _his_ life, had become another piece of him. Ronan Lynch _was_ the great demon, Malphas.

And so, this is Ronan Lynch. Demon/boy, drag racer, sharp teeth, bloodied fists. A mess of a creature. 

~ 

Ronan is lying face-up on his bed, staring at the ceiling as he has been for the last three hours, when he hears the following sounds: a car rolling up nearby, the engine going silent, the door to his shared warehouse-turned-apartment opening and closing, and shoes coming up the stairs. Silently, he wonders if he’s about to get a lecture on missing another full day of classes at Aglionby Academy. He had considered lying and telling his roommate that he was too hungover. It wouldn’t be a good excuse, but it would be an excuse. 

But, after all, Ronan Lynch doesn’t lie. An ironic habit for a demon. 

He just didn’t feel like going to school today, to be honest. Prestigious all-boy schools aren’t really his scene. 

“Ronan? Ronan, are you home?” a voice calls out. Ronan grunts in response.

“What did you do all day?” Ronan sees a flicker of movement the door frame of his room, and closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the look of disapproval on Gansey’s face. 

“I napped,” he says in a tone that means _none of your business_. In truth, he’d gotten bored of lying sleeplessly in his bed around 3am and went for a drive. Subconsciously, he was probably itching for a race and was hoping to meet K out on the lonely nighttime roads on the outskirts of Henrietta. He had no such luck, though, and made it home and back into his room before Gansey was up and about to discover his predawn adventures. That is not to say that Ronan’s equally insomniac roommate was asleep, just that he had shut himself in his room. 

Later, Gansey had left for school after several failed attempts to rouse Ronan from bed with the drumming of his knuckles against the bedroom door and shouts of warning. When he gave up, Ronan went for another drive. 

Maybe illegally pulling up to the driveway of his childhood home in broad daylight wasn’t the smartest choice, but Ronan Lynch is already bordering on the title of high school dropout so who is he trying to impress? He’s not sure who keeps the grounds of the Barns, but it looked as it always does. Trees and bushes trimmed, garden plants pruned, everything watered well in preparation for the hot sun of Virginian summer day. Everything looked as it should. Everything looked in place. As if it were any other home, with a happy family living inside. 

But it was empty, empty like Aurora Lynch’s eyes had been ever since the death of her husband. 

Ronan had grabbed the six pack of beer sitting in the back seat and let the car door slam as he stepped out and walked towards the field of Highland cattle with a sluggish saunter. A walk that said he was trying hard to belong, but he was still a stranger to this place.

Lying down in the grass, while miraculously avoiding the piles of cow shit that had yet to be scooped up, Ronan had stared up at the brilliantly blue sky and its clusters of fluffy, cartoon-like clouds and drank his beer until the case was empty. Until he could allow all of the longing and hurt inside. Until he could close his eyes and pretend that he still lived here. That his family and his childhood innocence and is easy joyfulness were all intact and that everything was okay, like it used to be.

It had only been a year but it felt like several lifetimes. 

He’d dozed off for a few hours after that. With his pale Irish complexion, he was lucky that clouds had blocked much of the sun from reaching and burning his skin, and that he woke up with only a rosiness to his cheeks and nose. 

Still, he doesn’t say any of this to Gansey, who remains blissfully ignorant to his roommate’s ill-advised ventures to the childhood home that he’s been banished from. Ronan thinks he gets enough lectures as it is.

“You napped,” Gansey repeats, while loosening the tie of his Aglionby outfit. “I might be tempted to address your increasing truancy and its effect on your future, but frankly, you already know everything I have to say. And besides, I’ve had such an interesting day and I’d rather talk about that.” 

Ronan nearly aches with relief that Gansey’s decided not ‘address his truancy’ because he doesn’t have the energy to argue with his best friend, doesn't have the energy to face all of the disappointment, and he scoots aside so that Gansey can join him on the bed and lay down. They both stare up at the ceiling. 

“Alright, tell me what’s giving you a nerd boner then.” 

Gansey shoots him a _look_ that says _I wish you wouldn’t be so crass,_ but Ronan pretends not to notice. 

“Well, today at rowing practice I got paired with Rutherford for warm up. You know, short fella with the great big arms? I believe his parents own a multi-billion dollar tech company. In any case, we happened to stumble onto a conversation about the supernatural-” Ronan interrupts with a scoff because he knows how persistent and inquisitive Gansey gets about his nerd shit, and that there was no _stumbling_ onto this conversation, but he’s swatted into silence. “-and he starts telling me that his own grandmother was once exorcised of a demon possessing her! How brilliant is that!” 

Ronan snorts. 

“According to Rutherford, a group of Catholic priest exorcised the demon from her body in the basement of their cathedral. The tale he told was absolutely _invigorating_. I’ll spare you the details. Later on in the day, Professor Murs holds me back after class. Apparently, Rutherford informed him of my interest in all things supernatural and mythological and, you simply won’t believe this, Ronan, Murs tells me that his descendants were witch hunters! _Witch hunters!_ Oh, I’d love to sit him down and pick his brain one day, I’m sure he’s most learned on witches and finding them. But today he simply mentioned Henrietta’s long and rich history with the supernatural, especially with witches and ghosts. He recommended some excellent books for me at the local library, which I picked up on the way home, if you’re interested in reading them.” 

“Think I’ll pass, Gans,” Ronan says with a short laugh. 

“Of course. Anyway, speaking of my ride home, the Pig broke down on the side of the road and I was surrounded by corn fields and cows. Shut it, Ronan, I _know_ it’s a deathtrap. That’s beside the point. I was just about to call someone, when this boy comes down the road on a bicycle and offers to take a look at the engine. Lucky, isn’t it? So he peeks under the hood and within fifteen minutes, the Pig was running again. Isn’t that incredible? I’ve broken down in the middle of nowhere, practically, and the one person who happens upon me is a mechanic! As if that wasn’t astonishing enough, he turns out to be an Aglionby student too!”

That last bit actually sparks some interest in Ronan, and he looks up at Gansey, who is rolling off of the bed to tug off his tie and hang it around his shoulders. He runs a hand through his flawlessly styled brown hair and glances briefly out the window. 

“His name is Adam Parrish. I actually have a few classes with him, as do you, I’m sure, so it’s an absolute shame that I’ve never spoken to him. He’s completely brilliant, Ronan! He’s a scholarship student and he works approximately four jobs to afford Aglionby. And he’s smart, _so_ smart.” 

Ronan rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. Gansey is positively _gushing_ over this Parrish kid, and Ronan struggles to snuff out the strike of jealousy and possessiveness piercing his chest. “Do I hear wedding bells, Dickie?” he sneers, but there’s no heat in it. 

“Ever the comic, Lynch,” Gansey says dryly. “I’m meeting Adam tonight at Nino’s, and you’re coming with me. So don’t even think about going anywhere tonight.” 

“What am I being punished for?” Ronan presents a grumpy, displeased front but his stomach is already grumbling and his mouth watering in anticipation of a cheesy, saucy slice of heaven. He silently realizes he hasn’t eaten today, hasn't consumed anything but for the case of beer earlier.

“Skipping school,” comes the tart reply as Gansey walks out of the room. 

~ 

Around 7 o'clock, Ronan manages a quick shower and throws on a pair of dark jeans and a black tank top before heading down the stairs of Monmouth and finding the Pig outside, already stuttering its complaints. Briefly, Ronan wonders if they’ll even make it to Nino’s. Gansey is waiting in the driver’s seat, wearing chinos and a polo shirt that is disrespectfully pink ( _”It’s_ coral _, Ronan. Honestly.”_ ) that Ronan thinks it’s no wonder the rest of Henrietta hates the Aglionby boys. 

Miraculously, the duo make it to Nino’s. Even more miraculously, the camaro does as well. 

“I don’t see Adam. I suppose he hasn’t arrived yet. I think he said he was coming after a work shift,” Gansey remarks. In reply, Ronan picks a booth and slides across the red bench, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. He feels Gansey take a seat beside him.

“Don’t fall asleep, Ronan. Be polite to Adam,” Gansey orders, rather than pleads. 

Ronan snorts. 

“Adam! Glad you could make it!” Ronan hears Gansey exclaim, and imagines him shaking hands like a politician's son would do. “This delinquent is Ronan Lynch, my best friend and roommate.” 

“Hey, Rich- Gansey. Nice to meet you, Ronan.” 

Ronan remains still, eyes closed, until he feels a sharp elbow in his ribs. 

“Fuck off, Dick,” he snaps, opening his eyes to send a dagger-like glare at Gansey. Open eyes inevitably lead towards the newcomer, as he slides into the seat across from them. 

_Christ,_ he’s pretty. All tanned skin and freckles and golden brown hair, and blue eyes like a crystal clear lake on a smooth, calm day. His hands are slender and calloused from hard labour and his face is fine-boned. Maybe he isn’t a supermodel, but he’s pretty in a way that makes Ronan’s breaths come out all shaky. 

But there’s something else. 

Ronan can _feel it_. Adam Parrish is radiating something bright and warm and good and it tickles Ronan’s skin in a way that he hasn’t felt in _decades_. It is familiar like the reflection in the mirror, like Gansey’s minty smell, like the sound of his father’s BMW roaring to life. 

Ronan’s world stops. 

_It’s him it’s him it’s him._

Suddenly, his mind is flooded with images and sounds and smells. Unfurling white wings and mischievous laughter and lips on his skin. The joy, the joy. Ronan's heart is racing so fast, like it's trying to gallop out of Ronan's rib cage and leap into Adam's. 

Not here. Wrong place, wrong time. But oh, how he _aches_. How he aches and craves the angel, his touches and soft words. How he needs all the gentleness of a lover’s embrace to wipe away the grief and loneliness that succeeded the angel’s absence. But he can't. He can't because Adam is looking at him like a stranger, because Adam has no idea who they are to each other. Ronan has been searching and searching for decades, and the angel finds _him_ , and Ronan can even reach out and touch him. Because the the love of his life doesn't even know who he is anymore. 

He exhales deeply. 

“Are we gonna fucking order or not? I’m starving,” he snaps, looking at Gansey so that he doesn’t have to look at _him_. His hands are shaking. He tries to cover up the cold fist curling around his heart and _squeezing, it hurts, it fucking hurts,_ , with his unkindness and sharp edges. 

Gansey sighs.

“My apologies, Adam. Ronan may be lacking in all manners and friendliness, but I assure you, he’s really not so bad.” 

“Okay,” Adam says with a shrug, not looking terribly bothered. “I sort of accidentally invited a friend to join us, I hope that’s okay? She’ll be here later.” 

“The more the merrier, I always say!” Gansey says brightly, even though he’s probably never said that before in his life. “Now, pizza preferences? It’s on me!” 

Now Adam looks uncomfortable. Ronan raises an eyebrow. What kind of scholarship kid goes unfazed by the likes of Ronan Lynch, but balks when someone offers to pay for dinner? 

“I’m not fussy. I’d rather pay for myself though,” he said quickly and quietly, like it’s not a big deal. Ronan can sense that it is, in fact, a very big deal.

“Are you sure? Alright, then,” Gansey concedes, and flashes his All American smile at the server who has just stopped in front of their table. 

“Evening, y’all. What can I get you boys to drink?” Gansey orders two iced teas, and Adam a water. “Right then. Ready to order, or do y’all need a few more minutes?” 

“We’ll take a large veggie, and a large pepperoni. Thank you,” Gansey says with a grin, before turning back to Adam. 

“So, Adam. What do you know about mythology?” 

Ronan groans. 

While they wait for their pizza to arrive. Gansey delves into an explanation of his fascination with the supernatural and mythology, and his search for non-human entities in Henrietta. He tells the story of how one of these creatures saved him when he was a child, and how this transformed into his all-encompassing obsession. Adam, to his credit, seems to be absorbing each and every word with genuine interest and only the smallest amounts of skepticism. Ronan pretends to doze off. 

At the end of the story, the pizza arrives, and Ronan can finally focus his attention on something tangible. He shoves half of a slice into his mouth, and as he chews, a different server approaches their booth and slumps into the seat beside Adam. 

“You lost?” Ronan sneers through a mouthful of food. 

“Hardly, pretty hard to get lost when I work here,” the girl says. “Are you, Raven Boy?” 

“Ronan, for Christ’s sake, can you stop embarrassing me and keep that attitude to yourself?” Gansey says, his voice sharp with exasperation and his chiseled jawline uncommonly red.

“I don’t need _you_ to defend me,” the girl says sourly, glaring at Gansey with an intensity that rivals Ronan’s. He decides right then and there that he likes her, even if she is the height of a toddler. 

Adam intervenes before Gansey can make a mess of himself. “This is Blue, the friend that I mentioned would be joining us. Blue, this is Gansey and Ronan.”

“Blue? What an interesting name! Enchanted to meet you, I’m sure,” Gansey says, reaching over the table to shake her hand. She grabs his, but shoots a dry look at Adam. The look says _These are not our people,_. Ronan slides one of the pizzas towards her, and she grabs one without thanking him. 

“Ditto."

"How was your shift?" Adam asks, taking a slice of pizza but looking at it like its the best and worst thing he's seen all day. 

"Awful. I had to deal with a bunch of stuck up Aglionby students. What were you guys talking about before?” she asks, and Ronan groans loudly. He doesn’t feel like listening to Gansey’s spiel again. He’ll endure it though, because it’s better than looking at Adam or thinking about him or imaging his hands and lips and smile and- 

“We were just discussing my fascination with all things supernatural and mythological!” 

Ronan catches Adam’s strange smirk. He figures it out when Blue speaks. 

“That right? I happen to come from a family of powerful witches.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I just wanna say that I have a really bad memory so there's a lot of details from the series that I might get wrong. If you see something totally off, feel free to let me know!! Same with general mistakes cause I'm barely editing lol.


	3. somnia (dreams)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: There's a brief scene near the end where Adam's dad is a douchebag.**

**ADAM**

Adam Parrish was born in a house of demons. 

Or rather, a trailer of demons. 

Perhaps these were not the same demons that he had consorted with in a past life, but they inspired horror and agony all the same. They were the demons of poverty, of his father’s alcoholism and bloodthirsty violence, of his mother’s subdued silence. These were the demons that had plagued Adam since childhood, and it was hard to decide which one was the worst. Which one cut the deepest, which one scarred him most on the inside. 

Was it the fact that he was white trailer trash, always had been, always would be? That no matter how many jobs he juggled, no matter how much money he saved, no matter which prestigious and expensive boarding schools he got into, that label would follow him into the grave along with his Southern drawl and false presentation? 

Was it the fact that his father, his own fucking father, laid hands on him? That his own sire couldn’t love him, but _could_ make gifts of bruises and sprains and bleeding lips, could cut him down and keep him down with his cruel tongue, could confiscate most of his hard earned paycheque? 

If Adam were to sit down and truly analyze himself and his experiences, he would probably come to the realization that it was his mother who hurt him the most. With her inaction, her silence, her pursed lips and empty eyes and stillness as her son was beaten again and again. They speak of the heights and strengths of a mother’s love, but nothing has ever been so absent in Adam’s life than that.

It doesn’t matter, though, which trauma in his life cocktail of misfortune has had the greatest impact on him. He has suffered the abuse for years, and he has long since learned how to pick himself up and swallow his hurt, inside hurt and outside hurt. 

How to minimize swelling and bruising, how to set a broken nose, how to stitch an open wound. 

It doesn’t matter, though, because Adam Parrish is a man with a plan. 

**Step 1: Work. Work, work, work. Never turn down work, pick up as many shifts as you can.**

Adam has worked a variety of jobs over the course of his short life. He’s shoveled driveways in the winter, mowed lawns in the summer, and raked leaves in the fall. He’s painted fences, walked dogs, washed cars, and pretty much anything else a teenager is qualified to do. 

Currently, Adam has three jobs. He works as a mechanic at Boyd’s Auto, he unloads trucks at a warehouse, and he works at a factory. It doesn't matter that at 17 year old shouldn't need to work so much.

 **Step 2: Save money. Don’t spend a cent on anything you don’t absolutely need, you can’t afford to enjoy life right now. Don’t let dad find out how much you’re making, or he’ll kill you.**

This one is the hardest. 

Living life with so much negativity- fatigue, frustration, fear, loneliness, stress, lovelessness- is even more unbearable when there is nothing to lift you up. When you can’t afford to treat yourself. But if he doesn’t follow this crucial step strictly, he won’t be able to keep affording Aglionby, and then he won’t be able to get into a top tier university, and then he won’t be able to escape the trailer park or Henrietta, and then he’ll live his whole life under his father’s fists, and then- 

**Step 3: Stay in Aglionby. Don’t let your grades slip. Get a scholarship.**

Adam had started saving up for Aglionby Academy the moment he learned about it. A prestigious all-boys boarding school with state-of-the-art education and connections to some of the wealthiest families in the States, and to some of the best universities. It was pretentious, the students were pretentious, the professors and activities and uniforms were pretentious. He simultaneously loved it and hated it. Loved the air of possibility and potential, loved the future that it gave Adam. Hated how he would never, ever belong. How he would never belong with the rich kids who parents were CEOs and neurosurgeons and politicians.

**Step 4: Get the hell out of Henrietta, and don’t look back.**

This is the final, and most important step of Adam Parrish’s life plan. The escape, the path onto bigger and better things. He doesn’t dare think further than this, though. Doesn’t dare think words like _Harvard or Yale?_ or _Medical school or law school?_ Not until he graduates Aglionby, until he has more money saved up and a scholarship and a ticket out.

Everything was going smoothly. 

Until Richard Campbell Gansey the Thirst came into his life and disrupted the balance and routine that he had worked so hard to compose, that is. And he brought with him profound friendship and magical adventures. And for the first time, Adam Parrish learned how to _live,_ instead of just survive. 

Adam had chanced upon Gansey at the side of the road, frantically inspecting the contents under the hood of his vibrantly orange Camaro. Gansey, with his sleeves rolled up and hair frazzled from hands going through him in a nervous tic, had still looked the part of the rich, sophisticated type that Aglionby usually lets in. Had looked the part that Adam craved. 

Adam had been on his rusty, slightly bent bicycle with beads of sweat rolling down the side of his face, on his way to the factory for an after-school shift. He had tried to convince himself to keep going, to turn the other way. _Not like he can’t afford a tow-truck,_ he had thought bitterly. 

Yet, despite his better judgement, he had stopped. 

“Need help?” 

The Aglionby student had peeked around the propped hood of his car to meet Adam’s gaze. “Unless you happen to know anything about cars, I think I’ll just have to make a call,” he had said, smiling sheepishly, like he was embarrassed that his car had the audacity to break down when he could clearly afford a brand new one. 

“I can take a look, if you want,” Adam had persisted, already mentally punishing himself at the prospect of being late for work just for helping some rich kid.

“Oh, could you? I’d be so appreciative if you could do anything.” 

So, Adam had lowered his bike onto the ground (the brake stand had fallen off years ago) to study the engine. It had taken him a few moments to figure out that the hydraulic tappet was loose and, using tools from a toolbox hidden away in the trunk that Adam guessed Gansey had never touched, tightened it up and had the car running in no time. 

Gansey had been _profusely_ grateful and practically begged Adam to accept a ride to work in payment, and Adam eventually had conceded. 

By the time they reached the factory, Adam had been roped into going to Nino’s later than night. He’d be tired, and he couldn’t really afford it, and he still found himself agreeing. Gansey had a way with words and persuasion and maybe, just maybe, Adam had also been flattered that a person like Gansey would want to spend time with and get to know a person like him. 

Gansey makes Adam feel _seen_.

~

Adam’s factory shift went by slowly. Realistically, his supervisor could have sent him home early because he really wasn’t needed, but he was grateful for the extra hours and tried to keep busy by sweeping work areas, maintaining equipment, and keeping supplies stocked. The hours dragged on, sluggish due to the anticipation going to Nino’s later. Adam tried to stop looking at the clock.

Blue had stopped by during his break, with the same old invitation from her family at 300 Fox Way. The invitation to read his future and analyze his bizarre and make him pie. He politely declined. 

He knew their rates and he knew that he couldn’t afford their help. And he knew he couldn’t accept their charity. 

He had smoothly slipped onto a different topic of conversation. Blue would be working at Nino’s that night, and Adam described his encounter with one Richard Campbell Gansey the Third. This lead to an unintentional invitation to join them after her shift and, despite her savage misgivings of Raven Boys (aside from Adam, of course), she agreed. 

If nothing else, it would be an opportunity to put some rich assholes in their place. 

~

It’s a little after 7 when Adam rolls onto the parking lot at Nino’s on his shabby bicycle, short of breath from his longer-than-expected ride from the factory and with clammy hands from bubbling nerves. After propping his bike against the wall of the restaurant, he steps inside and quickly finds Gansey seated at a booth.

He’s not alone.

Adam tries to recall if Gansey mentioned bringing a friend along, but feels better about inviting Blue to tag along. His tiny friend is nowhere to be seen, and is probably in the back. 

The boy slumped beside Gansey is all sharp edges and brooding aura and warning signs that scream _danger!_ When Adam approaches the booth, he finds an exuberant and friendly Gansey and a savage and unfriendly Ronan Lynch. 

Adam Parrish is no stranger to savage and unfriendly, so he brushes it off. 

He sits down with Gansey, and enjoys his company and easy amiability. As the vibrant son of a politician delves into his mythological and supernatural passions and his tale of personal experience, Adam keeps his amusement to himself. _Gansey’s gonna piss himself when he meets Blue._

Speak of the Devil, and she shall appear. 

When Blue slides into the booth beside Adam and leans against him in exaggerated exasperation, he makes note of Gansey’s strange expression. Intrigue and surprise and fascination and _reverence_ all wrapped up in a rather silly frown.

Later, when Blue casually mentions that she comes from a family of witches, Gansey makes the face again.

“Shut up for once in your life, _Dick_ ,” Blue is saying, “and let a woman speak.” 

Adam observes a subtle smirk on Ronan’s face. 

Gansey looks rather horrified, but nods silently. 

“Let me explain some things before you bombard me with your ridiculous questions. Yes, witches are real. Duh. There’s different kinds of witches, different kinds of magic. No one _owns_ magic, you’re either born with the ability to harness it or you learn how to. There’s a dozen or so elements that form the foundation of magic, and hundreds of variations of those elements that form specific magical practices. My family comes from a long line of witches, and mom’s two closest friends live with us as well. I’m not sure about their heritage, though. Questions?” 

“What kinds of things can you and your family do, then?” Gansey blurts out.

“My mom, Maura, is in tune with the element of water. This doesn’t mean she’s a water bender or something, this isn’t Avatar. It’s kind of hard to explain, but she can see things through water. One thing she does for customers is to have them drink from a class of water, and then study the water remaining in the glass. She can see the past, present, future. Whatever the customer wants. She’s also very skilled at conjuration, and can conjure things through larger amounts of water.” 

“Incredible!” Gansey exclaims. “Simply astonishing! Oh, would you mind if I kept a record of this information in my journal? If not, I completely understand, as this is probably a very personal and secreti-” 

“Go for it,” Blue says bluntly, looking bored as she finishes off another slice of veggie pizza. Gansey pulls the book out from his bag. It’s old and shabby looking, with a leather covering and a bulging shape from being stuffed with extra notes that stick out. It looks like the journal of a quirky old scholar, and, somehow, Adam thinks it fits Gansey. 

“Calla is skilled in fire-based magic and has a very rare talent known as psychometry-” 

“Ah! The ability to divine the history and associations of an object merely through touching it!” Gansey dives in, cutting Blue off with an unfortunate look of triumph and pride glazing over his face. “It’s absolutely _fascinating_ , I’ve read several articles on it but I’ve yet to meet someone with the actual ability!” 

Then Gansey meets Blue’s blazing look of disapproval and has the decency to blush. “I’ve done it again. Please forgive me, I tend to get a little overexcited about these things.” 

“Like a goddamn puppy on crack,” Ronan butts in, before slurping up the rest of his drink with an impolite amount of noise. 

“May I continue?” Blue says drily. “Persephone uses earth magic, with a focus on plants. She’s extremely talent at potion brewing, as well. My Aunt Jimi is an empath with water magic, too, and she’s skilled in healing. My cousin Orla is good with fire magic and we’re pretty sure she can read minds, but she hasn’t admitted to it yet. There, finished, any more questions?” 

“Excuse me, before Gansey here chats your ear off, I should get going,” Adam says, subtly digging through his wallet under the table to pull out his only bill. He silently thanks the gods that he had at least a 10 dollar bill, because he doesn’t wanna think about the embarrassment of promising to pay for his own meal and then not having the money to. He places it on the table. “For my share.” 

“Oh no, so soon? The night is young, Adam, and so are we! And tomorrow is Saturday!” Gansey exclaims. 

“I have to get up early for work,” Adam explains with a small smile while leaning to the side to hug Blue good-bye. “Uh, I had fun tonight. Thanks for the invite. Nice meeting you, Lynch.”

Gansey shakes his hand, which seems like a Gansey thing to do, and Ronan grunts, which seems like a Ronan thing to do. And Adam leaves early for work, which is most certainly an Adam thing to do. 

It takes Adam almost an hour to bike home, which gives him almost an hour to think upon the day. Or rather, to overthink upon the day. 

He simply can’t shake the feeling that this was all meant to be, like a bunch of puzzle pieces fitting together to create a flawlessly smooth picture, though he’s not sure what the picture is yet. Gansey tastes like _destiny_ and Ronan, well, he hasn’t made the same vibrant impression but he’s definitely left an impression. 

The look in Ronan’s eyes when they met each others’ gazes keeps flashing through Adam’s mind at an irksome rate. Here was this boy with a sharp look and a sharper tongue, with a buzz cut and bruised knuckles (Adam had been mildly curious, but mostly disgusted, when he noticed that. He said nothing. Violence was a predominant, persistent factor in his life and he sure as hell did not need to be involved in more.) but his face had revealed something. It was quick and quiet, and rapidly covered up with a savage sneer. 

But Adam had caught it. Adam, who was long-practiced in the art of observation, in the art of reading and interpreting micro-expressions of the human face, in the art of knowing when his father was craving a punching bag in the shape of his son. 

Adam had caught a flicker of what he could have sworn was vulnerability or fear, or maybe both. 

It seemed to contradict everything else about Ronan Lynch. Maybe there’s more to him than his sharp, flaming edges. 

Today has truly been a series of gifts from the cosmos, because when Adam quickly slinks into the trailer he calls home he finds his father already passed out on the couch with empty beer bottles surrounding him. Adam makes it to bed without a fist to his face. 

~ 

_Adam is drowning._

_No. No, that’s not right. He’s swimming. Or flying, perhaps._

_All around him are rippling shades of blue; cerulean and ultramarine and azure and cyan. Sapphire and periwinkle and teal and navy. Light is coming through in mottled, ever-moving shafts._

_He can’t breathe but, somehow, he finds that the does not need to._

_Suddenly there are dark shapes, huge and hungry and hazardous, whipping about in circle and to and fro and they’re just_ everywhere. __

_Sharks._

_Hammerheads and Great Whites and Makos and Goblins and Bulls and Megamouths and Threshers and for the life of him, Adam can’t figure how why or how he knows all the names of these magnificent creatures. But he does._

_Adam is not afraid. He should be, he thinks distantly, but he’s not._

_A shark draws nearer and nearer to the naked boy floating through the water until it feels like sandpaper is rubbing against his skin. It makes him shudder._

_Sandpaper to nails, he feels hands on him. Sliding up his back and grabbing his shoulders and pulling him, and he feels lips on his chest and neck and mouth. The water washes away and with the sharks, the sharks that are still sharks, and Adam is lying on a blanket and staring up at a tent.  
He can’t see another face, but still feels the warmth of another naked body beside him and he feels safe safe safe. _

_Then there’s a sound, a war horn. Screaming._

_Horses thundering towards each other. Spears and swords and arrows all glinting so beautifully, flying with a flag of a blue triangle outlined in red. Red like the blood splattering everything, staining the earth and sky and everything in between._

_Where is he?_

_Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?_

~

Adam wakes up dry-heaving.

His body is coated in a layer of shining sweat and his heart his pounding so hard he thinks his rib cage is bruising. He knows what that feels like. It takes way too long to come back to himself. To stop the shaking of his hands, to catch his breath, to make it to the washroom to splash cold water on his face and slap himself back into reality.

Adam recalls having bizarre dreams like this one as early as age 10. They feel like an overwhelming combination of memories and wild dreams and they always make him feel so fucked up afterwards. 

He sees the clock. 

_I’m late I’m late I’m late._

Adam doesn’t make it to work until two hours after his original shift start time, and by then the warehouse manager has already called in a replacement. He looks apologetic when he sends Adam back home. To his father. 

Robert Parrish is not expecting his son to come home so early. 

“Weren’t you supposed to work ‘till 4pm, boy?” he says gruffly, hands already curling into meaty fists that are very familiar with Adam’s body. 

Adam swallows thickly. “Yes, sir. I got sent home.” 

“Are you telling me you got your useless ass fired?” Robert responds, his voice already raising to an unsteady volume.  
“No, sir. I- uh- got to work late, they already replaced me for the day.” 

“That it, huh? After all me and your mom do for you, put food in your belly and a roof over your head, you can’t even keep your shifts?” Robert is yelling now and his only son is already tense and waiting. 

He closes his eyes when he feels hands shoving him roughly against the wall. His head hits the hard surface and he winces. 

“You’re damn lucky I got somewhere to be, or I’d be kicking your ass right now. Don’t let this happen again, or I won’t be so forgiving. Got it?” Robert spits. 

“Yes, sir,” Adam says bleakly, ignoring the throbbing ache at the back of his head. 

When Robert storms out the door, Adam finds himself sinking to the floor. He tries to stop shaking and he tries to catch his breath and he pretends that his mother isn’t in the kitchen, watching in her cold, dead silence. 

It is in that moment that Adam acknowledges that something needs to change. 

He could have kept these dreams of his to himself, but as they seep into the real world and affect his life they become a greater problem. If Adam misses work again because of this, Robert Parrish might actually kill him. 

So Adam does something very difficult for someone as stubborn as he. 

He swallows his pride. 

And he heads to Blue’s. 

He leans his bike against the rickety porch of 300 Fox Way and knocks on the door. When Blue answers, he lets out a breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I google the bit about hydraulic tappets idk anything about cars.. Feel like this chapter went a little better than the previous, not sure if I just got warmed up or if I'm just more comfortable writing as Adam. Please let me know what you think~


	4. exitium sui (self-destruction)

**RONAN**

Adam leaves Nino’s. 

Ronan burns. 

Inside he is all raging fire and racing electricity and raw explosions, and if he doesn’t get it all _out_ of him, he is going to burn alive on the inside. 

At that moment he feels a series of vibrations coming from his pocket. Loath as is he to do so, he checks it. 

**Bulgarian Trash:** _hey_

 **Bulgarian Trash:** _bitch_

 **Bulgarian Trash:** _going racing 2nite_

 **Bulgarian Trash:** _party @ mine after_

 **Bulgarian Trash:** _cum race me if u think ur dick is big enough for it_

 **Bulgarian Trash:** _🍌🍆🥒🌭_

Ronan releases a shuddering exhale as he stares at the phallic food emojis on his screen. Kavinsky’s timing has never been better. 

Maybe a bit too roughly, he shoves at Gansey beside him. “Move.” The word comes out clipped and harsh, but he can’t bother himself with his best friend’s feelings right now. 

“Wha- You're not leaving, too?” Gansey exclaims, but shuffles out of the booth just the same. Like he can read Ronan’s expression and knows not to mess with him. Ronan fights to ignore the hurt painted on Gansey’s American-Made features as he moves passed him.

“Yup, places to be. See you around, maggot,” he says roughly, jerking his chin in Blue’s direction before storming out of the shabby restaurant. He ignores the spluttering indignation at the nickname. He doesn’t look back. 

He hops into his car and turns the key, taking a moment to relish in the purr of the engine coming to life. Then he speeds off into the night. 

Ronan Lynch doesn’t really do speed limits.

He forces himself to focus on the road. Not for the sake of safety, of course, this is Ronan Lynch we’re talking about. No, if he can keep his dark eyes wide and alert for signs of Joseph Kavinsky and his bloodthirsty pack of ferals, then, maybe, just maybe, he can keep his mind off of Adam Parrish. Off of his freckles and sandy-coloured curls and once-broken nose. Off of the memories trying to claw their way into Ronan’s reality. 

He’s not ready for this. 

The fucking irony of it. _Decades_ of searching for the piece of himself that had been lost to him, and he breaks down at the moment of truth. 

Pathetic. 

He’s gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles are pale and his jaw aches from how tightly he’s clenching his teeth, but the tension leaves his body when he sees the Evo driving towards him at a lethal speed. The tension leaves his body not like an alligator; slowly submerging beneath the surface of water but like a bird of prey; lifting off into the air with its prey in sight. 

Night has fallen, and Ronan has driven far enough out of town where there are no streetlights, but the moonlight is enough to make Kavinsky’s white Mitsubishi glow. Ronan watches as it steers into his lane and begins swallowing up the distance between them, between a screaming collision of metal and fire and blood, at a rapid pace. 

Ronan’s heart is racing so fast he feels like throwing up. 

_Fuck yeah_ , he thinks. This is what he came for. 

He couldn’t die in something so _human_ like a car crash, not really. But even a demon, when he’s lived so long in the body of a man, forgets the taste of immortality from time to time. Tricks himself into a dance with death, or a theater show of it, anyway. 

Both boys are probably going 180km per hour, but to Ronan, the game of chicken seems to play out for hours. Who will break first? 

Maybe once when Ronan was nothing but a jagged, crying boy who had lost his father and forget his demonic truth, he might have kept going. But this Ronan, he has more to lose. He has Gansey and Matthew and, sure, even Declan, and _Adam Adam Adam_. 

He swerves out of the way at the last possible second and yanks at the e-break. The rear view mirror is like a screen, playing a scene of an Evo pulling an impossibly fast U-turn before slowly rolling up beside Ronan’s BMW. Ronan rolls down the car. 

“Pussy!” K shouts from the driver’s seat. He sounds delirious and Ronan isn’t sure if he’s high on adrenaline or something else. It’s probably both. 

“Where to, you Bularian piece of shit?” Ronan calls back. 

“Gang’s at the liquor store. Let’s meet ‘em there?” 

Ronan nods, and after a signal the two speed demons are off.

Ronan’s hand is deftly manipulating the gear shift as he moves the car around tight corners. The Evo and the BMW fight to stay in the lead, and Ronan nearly destroys both of them after swerving out of the way of a raccoon on the road. He can imagine K’s laughter at the prospect of Lynch swerving for a coon, but Ronan wants to be responsible for as few deaths as he can manage. 

Unsurprisingly, it is Ronan who rumbles into the liquor store parking lot first, with Kavinsky right on his ass. The drug dealer gets out of his car fuming, and slams the door behind him. His pack is loitering around their cars; tall and dark Swan, lithe Skov with his bleached hair, Jiang in his cold mystery and smell of cigarette smoke, and Proko. K’s right hand, and probably his bitch, too. 

They’re whooping at Ronan’s victory, but it’s restrained. They know not to piss K off.

Ronan’s heart is still pounding.

“Alright, douchebags, last one to mine is tonight’s cocksucker!” 

Sure, Ronan’s heard the rumours. He knows all about K’s substance parties, but he’s never for himself discovered any truth about the alleged orgies and other sexual deviance. He doesn’t really want to find out, and he’s already rolling off of the parking lot and speeding towards the Kavinsky estate, where Mr. Kavinsky is never seen, and Mrs. Kavinsky is never seen sober. 

The remainder of the night is mostly forgotten. 

Later, Ronan vaguely remembers his cup constantly being filled with Kavinsky’s latest alcoholic concoctions. Vaguely remembers lips and tongues shoving different pills into his mouth, but can’t remember whose face, or faces, they belong too. Vaguely remembers flashes of freckles and staring blue eyes and a crown of dusty, brown hair, and demanding more vodka cause he’s too sober if he’s still thinking about _him_. 

But tonight, all the booze and pills in the world are not enough to keep Ronan from dreaming. 

~

_"Meeting is_

_One of the accidents._

_The sunshine at the beginning of the summer."_

_The angel was staring at him, dumbfounded and perhaps a little bemused. "What was that?"_

_"It's called a haiku, angel," the Malphas said in a dry tone that indicates his own embarrassment. Weren't lovers supposed to woo their partner with romantic poetry? Maybe angels weren't fond of that._

_Marut's laughter sounded like the sunshine the Japanese poet, Otaka Sho, spoke of. "I know that! What does it mean?"_

_"Hell if I know. I guess... an accidental meeting can be as bright and warm as the first sunshine of summer," the demon mumbled, unable to meet the angel's gaze. He leaned back to lay down on the soft grass that the two are sitting on. It was just the two lovers, a demon and an angel, alone under a tree in a meadow of wildflowers. Marut lay back beside him, staring at the demon's face with a soft smile on his own._

_"Sounds familiar," he breathed._

_~_

_The performers were loud, the lights dim, and drinks well-mixed. This was the go-to gay club of Harlem in the 20s._

_None of that really mattered._

_All that mattered was Maruto's hesitant hands on his hips, the wild, strutting movements of their feet, the ways their bodies moved together. To think, Malphas hadn't even wanted to come. Had claimed dancing was a bore and that he had better things to do._

_What could be better than dancing in the arms of an angel?_

_~_

_"C'mon, doll, don't be afraid!" Malphas said, tugging off his clothes._

_"You know I'm not afraid, you demon!" Marut replied in exasperation, eyeing the edge of the cliff. "Kids these days do the craziest things for a good time."_

_"So let's go have a good time, angel," Malphas said, waggling his eyebrows and standing naked at the edge. Below him was a murky lake, just waiting to be disturbed by two bodies. "Haven't you always wanted to be kissed dizzy in a dirty pond?"_

_Marut gave him a withering look but looked down to hide his pink cheeks as he unbuttoned his shirt._

_Then they were flying through the air. Malphas wondered if this was how angels always felt. They crashed into the water, and they really did kiss each other dizzy._

_~_

Ronan is hungover. 

Really, really, really hungover. 

He woke up on the floor of Kavinsky's living room, an empty beer bottle in his hand and the sun shining obnoxiously on his face. A tear rolls down the side of his face as he stares at the ceiling. Fuck the hangover. 

Ronan _aches_. 

He needs to figure out a plan. Either he restores Adam's memories of Marut or he woos him all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is K’s Evo white??? I couldn’t find an answer anywhere, but I always pictured it as white. Also I definitely hc that the dream pack all fuck each other so maybe I’ll write dream pack porn some time.
> 
> So I started re-reading TRC and this might mean some of my writing style might change, probably nothing dramatic though. Just some character personalities and facts and stuff that I’m being refreshed on as I read. 
> 
> Also I'm realizing my timeline/order is kind of weird, hope it's not too confusing!


	5. puer exspiravit (the boy ghost)

The couches of the 300 Fox Way sitting room are a little lumpy and a little worn, which is fine with Adam Parrish because that is what he’s used to. Everything about him is frayed and shabby. There is a steaming cup of _something_ in his hands. What he had been offered upon his arrival had been tea, but the odour wafting up to his nose in a stream of steam resembles something far too awful to be considered edible. 

Still, the warmth bleeding into his calloused hands offers some comfort. 

The back of his head is still throbbing.

Blue is sitting beside him, also cupping a mug of steaming, murky liquid. She is also not drinking it. 

Across from the two teenagers, on another lumpy and worn couch, sit Calla Lily Johnson with her dark brown skin and plum-painted lips, and Maura Sargent, a taller and darker version of Blue. After a few minutes of sitting in silence, the party is joined by Persephone drifting in on a cloud of creamy white hair. She hands a slice of pie to Adam and Blue. 

“It’s pecan,” she offers in a dreamy voice. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Adam says. He isn’t hungry. 

“So,” Maura says. 

“Spit it out,” Calla says. 

Blue huffs quietly. 

“Alright,” Adam begins with an exhale, “I’ve been having dreams for as long as I can remember. I mean, weird dreams, not normal ones. They’re vivid, but uncertain, like memories. Like when you’re not sure you’re remembering all of the details of something, but you have a vague idea of what happened.”

“What happens in these dreams?” 

“It’s like watching different bits of one long movie, and the movie is about the history of the universe. I’ve dreamed of the Garden of Eden and the Tower of Babel. Of Roman emperors and medieval kings. I’ve dreamed of the invention of the lightbulb and the telephone and the typewriter. I’ve dreamed all of these things, but it’s like I was a part of it. Like I was there when it all happened.” 

He can feel all four of the women in the room staring at him. 

He takes a bite of pie.

“And?” Persephone says quietly. 

Adam looks up, eyebrows knit upwards in confusion. 

“What else?” Calla asks. 

“It’s right there, on the tip of your tongue. We can practically hear it already,” Maura says.

Adam swallows. “There’s… Someone else. A man. Or- no, not a man. It’s like he and I are both some kind of immortal entity. He’s… a friend,” he says carefully. “I think. My memories of him are the strongest, most vivid.” 

“What do you want us to do about it?” Calla asks bluntly, and Adam gives a start. 

“She means, do you want us to figure out what they mean or stop them from happening?” Maura intervenes. 

“Oh…,” Adam trails off carefully. “I guess the most important thing is to stop them. They’re really interfering with my life that this point. I wouldn’t mind figuring out what they mean, though. I’ve gotten kind of curious.”

“Alright, then. Before you leave, we’ll pack you up some stuff to help you sleep more soundly and ward off dreams,” Maura offers. 

“Give me your hand,” Calla says, extending her own. When Adam obeys, she firmly grabs his wrists and faces his palm upward. “Long, straight head line indicates that you are analytical. Same with your heart line, which also shows your empathy. Broken life line indicates trauma. You have several breaks, indicating several traumas.” 

Adam hastily pulls his hand back. Although he’s mildly curious about which traumas he’s suffered beyond his father’s cruelty, it’s not something he wants to think about at the moment. He’ll save that for when he’s lying in bed, in the dark, alone except for his thoughts. 

“Interesting,” Calla says, as if she’s read his mind. Adam feels a shiver. 

Persephone then leans over to pick up a pack of tarot cards sitting on the coffee table, before handing them to Adam. “Shuffle them, if you don’t mind,” she says softly. 

He attempts to do so efficiently and smoothly, but stumbles and nearly drops the cards from time to time. 

“Shall we?” Calla asks. 

“No, Adam should. Please lay down three cards, Adam,” Maura instructs. 

“From the top?” he asks. 

“From wherever,” Persephone answers. 

Adam pulls the card at the top of the deck and lays it down on the table. It is labeled ‘Two of Swords’ and depicts a blindfolded woman wearing a white robe, holding two swords pointing upward, with a moon crescent hanging above her. Then he presents the card he pulls from the bottom. This one is the ‘Ace of Cups’ and shows a hand holding an overflowing goblet sending out five streams of water, like a fountain, with a white bird flying into it. The third and final card is the ‘Moon’ and it is also the most intriguing card. 

It paints a scene of the sun and the moon, embracing, and staring down at the ground where two ferocious dogs stand barking up at them. Behind them is a rushing river, from which a lobster is climbing out. There is a pillar on each side of the card. 

“Ah,” the three witches say in unison. 

“Go on, don’t leave us in suspense. Tell us what they mean!” Blue demands impatiently, and Adam silently agrees.

“The Two of Swords,” Call begins, pointing to the first card. “A card of confusion and indecisiveness. The blindfold shows that you are missing some vital information.You will have a   
choice to make. This also shows that in a past life, you may have been subservient to others.” 

“The Ace of Cups,” Maura continues, before either of the teens can speak. “The cup represents a vessel into your subconscious, and the five streams of water represent your five senses. There’s a lot I could say about this card but I think the important thing is that you sacrificed so much for your loved ones in your past life and because of that someone may be looking for you.” 

“The Moon,” Persephone says in her soft voice. She says it like she is greeting an old friend. “All of these cards indicate past lives, Adam. The Moon indicates a deep and passionate love, but one you departed from alone. You may have a longing for this lost love. Ignoring your subconscious could cause great strife.” 

Adam leans back against the couch. “So y’all are telling me that I’m dreaming about my past lives?” he says, trying to conceal his skepticism. He’s getting help from a coven of witches so he shouldn’t really be doubting them. 

“And your tall, dark, and handsome friend. Let’s not forget him,” Blue says with a smirk. “Loverboy.” 

Rolling his eyes, he turns to the three older women. 

“Yes, Adam. And you really shouldn’t block or avoid these dreams. They could give you more pieces to this puzzle, and what you find might be more important than you think,” Maura says, a graveness falling from her lips. 

“I can’t have these dreams-memories, whatever-messing up my sleep schedule! I can’t keep being late for work and school!” Adam says, resenting how panicked he sounds. 

“Well, maybe you can save it for your off days? I’m serious Adam, whenever you can spare, you should allow these memories to reach you,” Persephone adds sagely. 

“Anyway, if you avoid everything you’re just going to get spiritually constipated,” Calla snorts. 

“Stay here a moment,” Maura says and the three ladies all exit the room in different directions. 

“Did that go how you expected?” Blue asks while swiftly dumping their teas out the open window. 

“I don’t know what I expected,” Adam admits, rubbing vigorously at his eyes. “I don’t really want to figure all of this out. I just want it to stop.” 

“Well, now, we can’t have you getting spiritually constipated, Adam Parrish,” Blue says seriously. “Don’t worry. You’re not alone, you know.” 

“Thanks, Blue. Seriously, I really need this.” 

“ _Pshaw._ ” 

When Maura, Calla, and Persephone return Adam stands up to receive their magical prescriptions. 

“A tea blend of vervain and lemon verbena. To promote a deep, dreamless sleep. Just have a cup before bed. Promise this one tastes better,” Maura says with a wink, hanging him a packet. Adam blushes sheepishly. 

“Put these under your pillow or on your nightstand,” Calla orders, shoving some rocks into Adam’s hand. “Turquoise is a stress reliever that cleanses and protects you in your sleep. Amethyst is calming and purifying. Black tourmaline protects you and absorbs and neutralizes sleep and dream-based negativities. I’m not giving you these, I’m _lending_ them until this business is all sorted out, got it?” 

Adam nods solemnly. 

“Place this pouch under your pillow as well. It contains rosemary, mistletoe, more lemon verbena, and is infused with lavender oil. All to promote deep, uninterrupted sleep,” Persephone says with a warm smile. 

“If none of these work at all, come back. We may have to brew a potion or do some spellwork,” Maura finalizes. 

Adam stares down at the collection of unfamiliar materials in his hands. His throat has gotten all dry and his cheeks have heated up with shame. “Thank y’all so much, for all your help. Uh, how much will all of this cost?” 

“Ah, about that, Adam,” Maura begins and Adam winces. He already begins preparing a response for their offer of charity, which he simply cannot accept. “We were rather hoping to come to a different arrangement.” 

“Oh, yes! We have so many things that need doing around the yard and house,” Persephone adds brightly. 

“And the car, don’t forget the car,” Calla says. 

“Right, and we’ve let it all go on for so long and now there are so many different jobs. And it would be such a hassle to go to all these different companies, all of whom will massively overcharge. What do you think?” 

“What jobs did you need done?” Adam asks hesitantly, glancing at a shrugging Blue. 

“Something is rattling in the car engine, there’s a break in the fence that needs mending, the garden weeds are just monstrous, the bathroom sink pipe is leaking, and some of the kitchen cupboards are all creaky. Does that sound like a reasonable exchange? You’d be doing our entire household some major favours, Adam.” 

“Sure, yeah. If you’re certain, I’d be happy to. The weekend after this one I should have some free time.” 

“Excellent, thank you so much, Adam! And let us know if you’re dream-memories get worse!”   
“Yes, ma’am. Thanks again,” Adam says, before Blue walks him to the door. 

“Thank the Goddess. Calla has been moaning about that car rattle for weeks now,” she says in exasperation. 

“Have a good shift,” Adam says, recalling that Blue had to work at Nino’s soon.

“Yeah, right,” she says sourly, “See you later.” 

~ 

Adam is hiding in the backyard when his mother, looking resentful and older than her age, yells at him from the backyard, claiming that there’s someone on the phone for him. 

“Adam Parrish! Are you busy tomorrow? Can you come to Monmouth?” Gansey sounds breathless with the rush of adventure and discovery and anticipation. Adam wonders what it’s like to feel that breath of life, that spark, that truth. Lately, all he feels is fatigue. 

“Hey, Gansey. I work ‘till 2. What’s up?” 

“I think Monmouth is haunted.” 

There’s a silence, and Adam wonders if it’s time for him to let it sink in or time to let him ask questions. 

“I’ve been researching this for weeks now. All the signs are there! Unexplained noises, cold spots, random things in the house moving or going missing. And other things, too! I’ve spoken to Blue, and she’s given me some tips. I bought a ouija board! You game?” 

Normally, Adam might’ve chuckled. At the ridiculousness of it all, of Gansey’s surety and faith, of the goddamn ouija board. But now his voice only catches, and he thinks about the bruises on his face and how they won’t magically disappear by tomorrow. About the looks on everyone’s faces. How he hates those expressions. 

How he hates the pity. 

Deep down, Adam knows that he can’t hide it forever. You don’t make friends by keeping all your secrets and never exposing yourself, even if you want to. 

“Sure.” 

“Fantastic! You’re at Boyd’s tomorrow?” 

“Yep.” 

“I’ll pick you up, then! I gotta go, see you tomorrow, Parrish.” 

“Bye, Gansey.” 

Adam hangs up the phone and turns around, coming face to face with his mother. 

“Hangin’ out with those rich boys again?” she asks sour.

“Yeah, ma,” Adam says, and heads back outside before she can say anything else. 

~ 

Adam recognizes the shaky rumble of the Camaro’s engine when he steps out of Boyd’s after his shift, and his heart starts thumping a taste of nervous energy as he grabs his bike and wheels it towards the violently orange car. He hears a door open on the other side and watches Gansey pop up. 

“I’ll help get that in the tru- _Jesus_ , Adam, what happened to your face?” 

It’s okay. _It’s okay._ He’d had time to produce a plausible tale. 

“Work accident,” he starts, sounding a little bit too casual. “I was grabbing a box of supplies from a high shelf, but the bottom ripped and everything fell directly on my face.” 

“Ouch, that’s bad luck!” Gansey says severely, helping to wiggle Adam’s bicycle into the trunk of the Camaro before closing the trunk. 

“Yeah,” Adam agrees. _Bad luck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. whew. i'm losing interest in this already. i wish i had chosen a more simple part, i just feel like i've bitten off more than i can chew. at this point i'm not sure what i'll do, so we'll see.


End file.
